Purple Beams
by Arya Lane
Summary: This involves RB-012C3, otherwise known as Kara. She is a muttation designed by the Capitol to fight in the 8th Hunger Games…and win. However, what happens when she starts to realize that maybe her beloved creators aren't so nice after all?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Purple Beams

Description: This involves RB-012C3, otherwise known as Kara. She is a muttation designed by the Capitol to fight in the 8th Hunger Games…and win.

Rated: T

Character(s): OCC

Genre: Action

Chapter 1

**Author Note: Well, this is my first fanfiction. Hope you like it! =] Please rate and review! Rated T for violence.**

**Disclaimer: I don't want to have to post this on every chapter, so just understand that, no, I do not own Hunger Games. Sigh.**

A white wall. That's all I ever see, every day. Morning to night, sunrise to sunset. Every waking moment is spent staring at the blinding stark white wall as scientists from the Capitol buzz around me like tracker jackers.

"Is it ready yet?"

"No, not yet. But it will be in time for the 8th Hunger Games." Sounds of muted dialogue weave in and out of my genetically altered ears.

"It'll be the best muttation yet," one of the scientists crows.

I, the subject of their whisperings, am listening intently, trying to catch the lingering sounds before they dissipate into the air. I smile faintly before I can catch myself. I am amused at the soft melodies intertwined through the voices. Immediately, a sharp electric shock speeds through my body. I wince as I mentally slap myself. Right. No smiling. It is against the Rules.

I absently eye the crumbling plaster of the wall. By this time, I can name every single cranny and crevice on that wall. I pause in my musings. How long had I been here? How old was I? I have no recollection of being a young child or toddler. I know they exist; one of my creators had brought his daughter in once to show off. Maybe I had just sprung into being. And it was all due to my creators. I reign in my involuntary smile just in time as the customary feelings of euphoria wash over my body. These valuable glimpses of happiness are always present with thoughts of my creators. I am not stupid; I know this is a defense mechanism created by the Capitol scientists to ensure that their creations would never turn against them. I don't mind. It is an expected aspect of my life.

Suddenly, I spot a slight movement out of the corner of my eye. It came from the Forbidden side of my room – the window. Oh, how I long to gaze out of the window and drink in the outside to my heart's content. But it is against the Rules. All I am allowed to do is stare at the wall…I scowl at the snow-white plaster – I can feel it mocking me. A sharp crackle hisses as another electrical charge pierces my body through one of the numerous wires attached to my back, legs, and arms. Frowning is against the Rules, too. In fact, I am pretty sure that showing any emotion at all is against the Rules.

The Rules dictate my life. Pretty much everything is against the Rules. Any sudden movements, disobeying the scientists, failing to complete tasks…basically, anything that annoys my creators. I eye the scientists again. It amuses me to watch them fuss with the various mechanisms attached to me. The wide range of colors dyed to their faces, hair, and even skin shocks and pleases me and provides a rare source of amusement. Who knows why those silly humans did those superficial things to themselves…humans. I have mixed feelings about them. For one, I completely adore my creators, the small group of important-looking officials in crisply pressed black suits. They never bothered with those silly colors and glitters. However, they are the only exception to my…cruelty. I can't help it; I am programmed to immediately spot any physical – or mental – flaws or weaknesses. This will aid me immensely in the Hunger Games.

As my thoughts slowly turn to the Hunger Games, a slight frown line creases the area between my delicate black eyebrows. Thankfully, it isn't significant enough to warrant another electric shot. It is my life's sole purpose to win the Hunger Games. I am the first of my kind to be created. The heads at the Capitol, having decided that they didn't want to cough up the expected prizes for some low-life bum from a random District, had began drafting – or, technically, ordering the scientists to – blueprints for the most advanced muttations yet – and I am one of them.

Looking at me, you would never have guessed at my…questionable background. To the other competitors, I will simply be yet another person among many. Soft tendrils of raven black hair cascade down from my pale head, barely grazing my shoulders. My fair skin is dusted with a few faint sprinkles of freckles across my nose and cheekbones, and my striking luminescent purple eyes – the only abnormal aspect of my face – gaze solemnly from underneath thick black lashes. My arms and legs are lean and rippled with muscles, and every single one of my senses are enhanced. I feel no emotion – thus, I will not feel any qualms from brutally slaughtering every. Single. Person. Who. Stands. In. My. Way. _I will win. _And maybe this time, I can finally make my creators proud.

Another movement. By this time, I feel unfamiliar tugs at the corners of my mind. Is this...curiousity? I feel myself experience vague feelings of surprise and wonder as if through a haze. What is happening to me? I barely manage to blink before a thick fog seemed to billow out from the depths of my mind and I succumb to darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note: Well, I left you with a cliffhanger, huh? Thanks to HungerGamesLover for the helpful criticism. I tried to make this chapter longer! =] As always, please R & R!**

I groggily wake up, absent mindedly swiping the sleep from my eyes. Where am I? I stiffen, waiting for the sure-to-come electric punishment for experiencing curiosity. I wait, holding my breath. One second…two…three…where was it? I cautiously glance down towards my arm, careful not to make any sudden movements.

I shriek. No wires, no beeping machines, no nothing! I goggle for awhile before prodding my arm tentatively. Nothing happens. Suddenly, a faint rustle draws my attention. I whip my head around quickly, almost giving my neck backlash. Huh? What happened to the wall? Instead of the normal stark white room, I am in a field.

Soft, dewy grass cushions my sitting form and waves lazily in the crisp spring breeze. In the distance, mockingjays chirp jauntily. Mockingjays are special; they're the only living species to ever have defied the great Capitol. For this, I hate them. My amethyst eyes narrow as my body slowly changes shape. It is a slow process, but my Creators have assured me this will be improved on before the Hunger Games.

My legs ripple and shorten as muscles gather underneath the surface of my now-changing skin. Pale human skin leisurely gives way to fine gray fur dappled with charcoal rings. My face lengthens into a short snout, snow-white whiskers sprouting from either side of my nose. I crouch down as a long, slender ash gray tail sprouts. Finally, I am finished and in the form of a snow leopard.

I snarl, enjoying the sensation of powerful rumbles emitting from my throat. I prepare to spring at the mockingjays, who I can now see, foolishly making a loud racket. However, before I can pounce, a hand gently brushes against my shoulder.

I yowl in surprise; no one has ever managed to sneak up on me before. Spinning around, I search desperately for the hand's owner. Seeing no one, I chalk the feeling up to frayed nerves – I'd never been outside of the muttation lab before. Disconcertedly I slowly sit on my haunches, warily eying the once-peaceful surroundings.

"Don't get around much, do you?" a low voice quipped. I shriek, then quickly clamp my mouth shut. Already I am reverting back to my lesser form – a dirty human. This is another flaw in my make-up: my snow leopard shape only lasts for a few minutes. Coughing slightly, I manage to reply.

"Who are you?" I ask gruffly, my feet shifting to a defensive stance.

"Why the stance? Trying to fight, are you?" the voice – definitely male – teases. I scowl. Although I have never experienced a conversation of this length before or ever had someone tease me, I know subconsciously that I do _not_ enjoy this particular practice. I don't reply; instead, I prepare myself for the inevitable fight. So when the punch comes whipping from behind, I am ready.

Duck. Jab. Jump in the air, spin, and land a kick. Land softly. Sweep kick. Darn. He's still standing. Leap to the side. Kick again. Land two quick jabs. Punch.

I catch a smile on my face. This is what I was – literally – made to do. I rapidly fire off a succession of punches all around his body. He is getting tired; crystal sweat drips down from his chestnut hair and pools around his chin and shoulders. Finally, he pauses after kicking once to desperately try to steal a breath or two of air. I don't allow this and swiftly tackle him, sending both him and me to the ground.

As I am about to land the customary killing blow to the base of the neck and spine, something stops me. Maybe it's the defiant look in his golden eyes. Everyone I've killed before has always been resorted to pleading for pity by the time I am through with them. He is…different. I cock my head, wondering if he had bought color-changing agents for his eyes like some of the scientists.

In the Capitol, the natural eye color is mud brown. In fact, if the inhabitants of the Capitol didn't take such pains to alter their looks, they would be quite average. Medium height and build, brown hair and eyes, lightly tanned skin. I decide that he must be quite vain and decided to purchase appearance-altering agents; this helps me to despise him, which I am having trouble doing.

He winces before smirking.

"Are you going to get off of me? What do you weigh, five hundred pounds?" he asks jokingly. I stare, not accustomed to jokes.

"No, I am precisely five feet five inches and one hundred and ten pounds. The ideal weight to survive," I rattle off my various physical traits as I am trained to do whenever a scientist asks me any questions. Thinking about this has reminded me of the scientists – how am I supposed to get back to my home? Sure, the wall wasn't the most diverting thing to stare at, but at least it was something I was used to. This…was something I had no idea how to handle. Nowhere in my programming did it dictate what to do when a boy with golden eyes teases you. I stare off into the distance, my thoughts drifting off to fiery suns and liquid gold pools…

"Now, seriously. Get off!" he complains loudly, attempting to push me off. I instinctively pin his arms down, snarling, the tips of my canines beginning to elongate. He blinks, realization slowly overcoming his face. I watch him, fascinated. I have never seen such an expressive face so full of emotion. If he had been in my place, he would be dead from all the electric shocks by now. He continues whining.

I shrug and scramble up from his stomach where I had been keeping him hostage for the past ten minutes or so. I scan the clearing again. How in the name of tracker jackers am I supposed to get back?

A distant beeping interrupts my train of thoughts. I spin, trying to pinpoint the source. By this time, the boy has stood up and is watching my antics and grins wickedly.

"Are you always this hypersensitive?" he asks innocently. I ignore him. Where was that infernal sound coming from? Suddenly, I freeze in my tracks and a blank look sets in. What…? Then, realization dawns. Someone back at the Capitol is manually overriding me! I am overcome with joy, but I can't help it! I am going home.

The boy is suddenly serious. "No! I need more time…" he mutters, a wild look in his eyes. He grabs my shoulders and shakes me.

"Listen carefully, okay? Whatever you do, remember there is _always a second choice_!" he hisses frantically. I have to struggle to make out his words; a solid bit of sound interference is running through my mind as I attempt to make contact with the Capitol. The boy groans in frustration.

"Remember the _purple beams_! Purple beams, okay?" he says urgently. I ignore him, smiling blissfully as I can hear the sound of one of my beloved Creators' voice coming from my lips.

"RB-012C3? Are you there? Proceed Command #12-A3 immediately. Repeat, Command #12-A3," a tinny voice orders. My mind fogs again as my body is turned automatically towards the direction of the Capitol.

I am heading home.

**AN: Well, I hope it was long enough! It's around 1,250 words. Hopefully the chapters will keep increasing in length! Next update might not be for a while – my teachers at school have really started unleashing the tests/essays/homeword. Ugh. Anyway, again, please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Author Note: Ugh. I've had the worst cold for the past few days, and I've been sneezing constantly. As a result, this chapter is kind of a filler (sorry). Anyway, thanks to the following reviewers: Fiows and .**

**To answer Fiows's questions:**

**ONE: where exactly did..RB-er...yeah, the main character go? **

**ANSWER: Basically a small clearing right outside of the Capitol's border. It'll be made clearer further on in this fanfiction**

**TWO: Is she ever going to get another name?  
><strong>

**ANSWER: Of course! Her name will be Kara…you'll find this out in the next chapter or so.**

**THREE: Who was the guy? **

**ANSWER: My lips are sealed :3**

**FOUR: Is there going to be a potential romance? **

**ANSWER: I'm still debating. What do you guys think? Please review with your votes (yes/no)! **

**Hope that answers all of them! **

**Chapter Dedication: to my strawberry cough drops. My throat thanks you ;P**

The white wall. I dimly gaze at it while various scientists fuss over my vitals and various measurements. I am slightly distressed at the sound of their obvious anger and worry. I did not mean to make them fearful. A small part of my mind rebels, pointing out that it wasn't my fault I woke up in a random clearing.

I shake my head vigorously to dispel the thought, causing several of the workers to hiss and flinch away in fright. I quickly settle down in hopes of avoiding the shock. Of course, it comes anyway. I accept the pain bravely; I deserve all of it and more.

My gaze rebelliously drifts to the light streaming in from the window. I stare as the liquid gold rays playfully dance across the gray concrete floor. I sigh and force myself to look away. I don't deserve the sun's comfort. I have disobeyed my Creators.

My mind drifts back to last night's events…

_I wake up from my stupor, blinking as the harsh fluorescent light batters my eyes. My heart sinks as I realize that every single one of my Creators are here – usually only one or two show up occasionally to check up on my progress. As much as I am overjoyed to see them, I know that they are here because of my misbehavior. _

_ A woman steps out from the crowd of black suits and disapproving looks. Her silver-black hair is tied back in a severe bun, showing the sharp angles of her pale face. Her amber eyes seem to pierce my soul and her mouth is firmly set in a scowl. Her gaze rakes me up and down as I shiver. She opens her mouth to speak._

_ "Have you checked her programming for any malfunctions?" she barks at a scared-looking scientist huddling in the corner. He starts in the surprise of being addressed and fumbles his clipboard, causing it to drop to the ground. He quickly scoops it up and blushes furiously. The woman frowns even more, if that is even possible. _

_ "Well?" she barks. The man adjusts his glasses nervously._

_ "Y-yes. Everything was in order. Only thing out of the ordinary were signs of slight emotional trauma from the brain scans. Vitals are normal," he says in a rush, then cringes. She raises a delicately plucked eyebrow before nodding almost to herself._

_ "Must have been too much snow leopard DNA, then. I knew the leopard's tendency to roam would catch up to us," she mutters half to herself, half to the other Creators. The Creators' expressions darken as they begin to converse among themselves. The woman looks up._

_ "You!" she snaps. The scientist, who by this time looks like he's about to either pee or run away crying, nods nervously. _

_ "Continue all normal procedures. If anything is out of the ordinary, contact us immediately," she orders, then spins on her heels and heads out the steel door. The rest of my beloved Creators follow her. _

_ As soon as the scientist, who I can see by his nametag is called "Andeen," sighs in relief and slumps to the ground._

_ "I need a coffee," he mutters after a few moments of groaning. I contemplate him before beginning to speak._

_ "Am I in trouble?" I tentatively ask. He flinches as he stares in horror at the door, clearly expecting to see one of the Creators come back to fire him. When he sees no one there, he searches the room before realization dawns on his face. He turns to look at me in wonder. _

_ "__RB-012C3? Did…did you speak?" he asks incredulously. "No, you couldn't have. I didn't ask a question," he mumbles to himself and runs a wearied hand through his orange hair. "I need a break," he says and leaves the room, closing the door with a heavy thud. I sink back into a meditative stance, closing my eyes. I will find a way to make it up to my Creators._

My thoughts are broken by the sudden silence. I glance around, confused. Where did all of the scientists go? According to my internal clock, it is time for my archery practice to begin. I stare at the woven steel restraints holding me to the chair – not that I would even dream of attempting to escape.

I sigh wearily and begin listening to the ticking of the clock mounted on the wall. Seconds turn into minutes, which in turn evolve into hours. After around three hours, twenty-two minutes and forty five seconds, the heavy steel door creaks open.

I barely manage to squash the broad grin threatening to show itself on my face as I see a flustered scientist barge in with a wild look in her eye. The scientist, a stocky woman with neon pink hair, stops to catch her breath.

"RB-012C3…proceed…to…archery…immediately" she wheezes, clutching her stomach. I wait patiently for her to collect herself. When she sees that I do not move, she frowns. I quickly gesture to the cords binding me, and she smiles, relieved that I had not suddenly developed a need to disobey.

She quickly pushes a silver button on the wall, releasing me. I nod to show my gratitude and promptly march out of the room. I wind through the twisting hallways designed to confuse any unwanted intruders.

Left. Right. Right again. Left. Left. Right. Straight. Right. Finally, I arrive at a cold steel door, not unlike the one leading into my own room. In fact, every door in the building are exactly identical, another safety precaution against burglars.

I step up to the door and state clearly, "RB-012C3 for archery."

The door slides open compliantly and I walk in, my bare feet leaving the unforgiving concrete and onto smooth hardwood boards.

I stride to the corner of the room, where a vast arrangement of various bows, arrows, and quivers await me. I eye them over before deciding to pick my personal favorite. Although I am not subject to superficial things, I must admit that it is beautiful.

It is a supple cherry wood, polished until it shines even in darkness. It curves elegantly and responds to my very touch, humming as it meets my personal requirements. The arrows that come with it are razor sharp, their purple tips gleaming wickedly in the harsh light of the room. I test the tips' sharpness by delicately running a fingertip over one. When I immediately feel warm blood, I smile in appreciation.

I heal fast, so a single cut doesn't sway me in the slightest. Already I can feel the fibrin of my blood weaving the skin shut. Yet another perk of being a muttation. A tinny voice booms over the speakers present in every room.

"RB-012C3? Why were you not here three hours ago?" the voice booms sternly. I bow my head in mortified shame.

"I am sorry. I…" just as I am about to accuse the late scientist, I stop. Something holds me back. This frightens me; I am supposed to be cold, ruthless! Not forgiving and lenient, and I am definitely _not _supposed to take the blame for someone else's actions. I square my jaw and glare defiantly at the source of the noise, a small black speaker on the ceiling.

"Scientist 32 arrived late and failed to due her duty," I say. I hear a trace of humor in the voice.

"Is that so? Very well, continue with archery training, RB-012C3," the voice says, and hangs up with a click. Somehow I feel as if I have passed a test. Were they making sure I was still their heartless creation? I shake my head, dispelling any thoughts.

It did not matter what they did. Whatever they chose to do, it was for my benefit. My Creators were always correct.

I drew my bow with the practiced ease of someone who had done this millions of times before. I do not need to even glance at my targets; I can shoot them with my eyes closed.

Clenching my eyes tight, I breathe in deeply, filling my nose with the scents filling the room. The stale medicated air…sweet wood from the bow…bitter metal from the arrows…there. The musty smell of hay. I rapidly fire off a succession of arrows into all directions of the room, each one finding its mark into the hearts of the various straw dummies hidden around the room.

_Thunk! _The arrows create a satisfying thud as they plunge deeply into the cloth. My muscles strain in pleasure and my fingers become raw, but I don't care. I am in heaven.

All to soon, I reach behind me only to find that my quiver is empty. My eyes slowly open regretfully. I draw out the process of collecting the arrows from the dummies for as long as I can. However, it is an easy process and I am done in only six minutes and twenty-one seconds.

I linger for a while, gazing at the room for a few more moments before determinedly stepping out.

It is time to return to the white wall.

**AN: Well, hope you liked it! It's around 1,600 words, so the chapter length keeps increasing! =D As always, please review! They really make my day and I take them into account while writing!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Author Note: Hey, it's Misarya again (who else?). My cold's getting better, but the stupid runny nose isn't. I've gone through three boxes of tissues . But anyway, thanks to Kristina, EnjoyEveryChapter, and ReadrOfBooksfor commenting. And to answer Kristina's question…**

**QUESTION: ****is rb-something partrobot? **

**ANSWER: She is a muttation (mutation), so no. But she does have a few aspects (i.e., microchip implanted in her brain and other stuff you'll learn about later). **

**Chapter Dedication: To my best friend, AJ. It's her birthday today, and she's the one who first got me hooked on reading fanfiction about a year ago! Happy Birthday!**

The white wall. Feeling a disconcerting sense of déja vu, I sigh. Why wouldn't I? I've been staring at this stupid wall for the past fifteen years of my life. I freeze in horror. Oh, God, no.

Another shock pierces my arm, quickly passing through my body. I've been zapped more times in the past few days than I've ever been. I dejectedly slump, the restraints preventing me from falling to the ground.

For the first time ever, I am feeling…bitter? This is a new, strange emotion. I sigh. So much has happened in the past few days…my thoughts drift to the golden-eyed boy. Who was he? Was he even from the Capitol? No, he must be. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered with those gold contacts. I muse to myself, subconsciously stroking my fingers.

Still, whoever he was, how did he get me out to that clearing? Questions buzz around my head like annoying tracker jackers. Suddenly, streams of music float in faintly from the window.

I freeze, my ears cocked. Even with genetically enhanced ears, I can barely make out the faint notes straining to come through the thick Plexiglas window. The lilting melodies and interwoven harmonies are…beautiful.

Unknowingly, soft tears pool in my eyes as my mouth quivers. What's…happening to me? I try and hold the tears in for as long as I can, turning my purple eyes into watery mirrors of reflected light. However, the harder I try, the more the tears threaten to flood.

I should hate the music for doing this to me. Yet…somehow, I cannot bring myself to fully despise it. The most I can muster is a little bit of dislike. A brief bit of curiosity sneaks into my mind. Where is it coming from?

I am about to turn my head to the left to try and catch a glimpse, but I stop myself just in time. My eyes are wide with horror; I can't believe I almost looked towards the Forbidden side!

I wait for the unavoidable electric punishment. However, none comes. The clock on the wall mocks me, every second torturous.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Abruptly, I snap. Frantically, I zip through a rapid-fire sequence of various emotions that I have seen the scientists use. Smile. Frown. Laugh. Sob. Pain. Giggle. Embarrassed. Frightened. Smile again.

I never thought I would be so terrified and unhappy to not receive the usual punishment. However, no chastisement means no one is watching – and they are _always_ watching. Where are the usual scientists?

I freeze. What if this is another test? I force myself to breathe deeply and it helps; I finally manage to calm down. I slump back against the unforgiving metal of the chair.

I will wait until my Creators come.

The music continues to sound, taunting my inability to move. How I wish to see what is creating those notes sung so intricately. For now, I will have to be content with listening.

I never get impatient; impatience leads to making fatal mistakes that can lead to one's death during battle. Still…I cannot pretend that I am extremely curious. Perhaps this is why, after only five hours, twelve minutes and fifty-two seconds, I am debating whether or not to break free.

Cutting the restraints would be simple enough; all that is needed is a little ingenuity. Making up my mind, I decide to break free quickly before I have the chance to second guess myself. Nevertheless, as I squirm my way out of the clumsily tied knots, doubts worm their way in. What if this _is _another test? Am I disappointing my Creators?

No. I will not think about this. It's too late now. I order my mind to shut up, and it works. One…last…knot…there. I am free. Free…such as simple, four letter word, yet…so powerful.

I absent-mindedly touch the back of my head, brushing away a decent amount of hair to reach the skin. Free…which I'll never truly be. My fingers graze against a raised scar, puckered and angry. Although I cannot see it, I know the incision is in the shape of an 'X' and is expertly sewn together. This is where the scientists implanted a chip…this is how the scientists know where I am.

No. The chip _protects_ me. If the scientists don't know where I am, how are they supposed to save me? I think forcefully. Still, I cannot stop my feet as they lead me to the small window imbedded in the midst of the white plaster. Now I will finally see who was making the exquisite melodies.

Looking out, I am disappointed. All I can see is the face of another wall on the building directly opposite of this one. Wait…a flash of black. I crane my neck, pressing my cheek against the cool glass. It is an awkward angle, but I can just manage to see it out of the corner of my eye.

A…mockingjay? I scowl in disgust. I risked all of this for a lowly mockingjay? Mockingjays are incredibly ugly; plain black with streaks of dirty white peppering their feathers. They are ugly because, just by existing, they are defying my beloved Capitol. Anything that rebels or disobeys the Capitol suffers consequences – after all, the bad side always loses, and the Capitol is nothing but good.

I make to turn away, thinking that the source of the music has left already. However, the notes soon resume, dancing and filling me with light and joyful giddiness. I quickly whip my head around, but there is still only that lone mockingjay.

Wait. The mockingjay's beak was open, and from it poured melodic tunes. I could almost envision the notes, which were a rainbow of hues, delicately springing to life and drifting off into the air. I blink in disbelief. How could something so obviously _wrong _produce such a wonderful sound?

Disturbed, I turn away and climb into the restraints. I close my eyes and force myself to sleep; now that I know the source of the music, it is ruined.

After all, anything made by a disobeyer is garbage and is not worthy of being listened to.

At least, so I tried to tell myself.

When I opened my eyes, there is a thick layer of yellow sleep crusting my eyes shut. I absently swipe at them, breaking the crust off. Wait. How was I able to move my arm? There's supposed to be restraints preventing that!

I frantically glance down, confirming my suspicions. The restraints are no longer there…and neither is the wall. In fact, the entire room is gone. Instead, serene grass and solemn trees gently swaying, their emerald leaves rustling. The clearing.

I groan in frustration. I catch myself glancing around surreptitiously, looking for the boy. I mentally slap myself, but I can't help but feel disappointed when I see he is not here.

Wait. A glimpse of purple. What had the boy said before? Purple beams…? I cautiously slink over, each step leaden with adrenaline. The purple flaps in the slight breeze, held down by a moss-covered rock.

I lift the twenty-five pound rock easily, freeing the purple strip of cloth. On it, a hasty note is scrawled in somehow still elegant handwriting.

_Dear RB-012C3,_

_Have I ever told you how much I hate your name? You should get a new one; the one you have currently hardly counts as a real name. I think I'll call you Kara because I know that you care. Get it? Please, try to stop laughing hysterically at my amazing sense of humor. Anyway, although you do not really know me – although, judging by the various bruises on my body (thanks, by the way), I gather that you are quite strong – it is extremely important that you follow these instructions. Well, the only instructions for now are simple: just do as you usually do until the amazing Hunger Games begin in two days. Then, go to the Cornucopia and wait as deep in it as you can get. I know this seems like a major trap, but please – trust me. Remember, there is always a second choice. _

_ Sincerely, _

_Cirrius_

_P.S. I bet you're wondering how you got here. Simple. I don't know if you noticed, but there was a mockingjay there. It alerted me as soon as you fell asleep, and I notified one of the inside scientists (ha, wouldn't you like to know which one) to bring you here. Discreetly. Anyway, to get back, simply sit down. And wait. Then, a mockingjay will land on your head. It will have a transporter attached to its ankle; simply take it off (carefully – mockinjays can be quite feisty) and press the red button. And tada! You'll be back in the room with no one the wiser (I know for a fact that all of the scientists have today off – something to do with preparation of the precious Hunger Games arena). _

I stare disbelievingly at the cloth before rereading it. Who did this Cirrius think he is? I would never trust him, even less so because of the mocking tone he took on whenever he mentioned the Capitol. I frown. As much I hate to do so, I will have to follow his instructions…if only to get back.

It's not like I'm breaking any rules by doing what I usually do…I try and convince myself that what I am doing is justified, but I do not fully succeed. Finally, I give up and collapse to the ground in a huff.

After precisely three minutes and twenty-five seconds, a mockingjay flutters above my head. I shudder in revulsion. Disgusting creatures.

The mockingjay, almost reading my mind, cawed in indignation and landed just out of my arm's reach. It sticks out its knobby leg, the transporter glinting temptingly.

I bite my lip and speak softly. "Come on…come here…" I plead, all the while inching closer. The bird cocked its head before hopping closer.

"Good bird…good muttation…" I say, reaching out. The bird suddenly beats its wings and lifts off of the ground just as I dive for the transporter. It caws in victory.

I groan. Fine. "I'm…" I grit my teeth before spitting out my apologies. "Sorry, bird. Please come down?" I ask. The bird chirps before offering its leg.

I warily eye the bird before swooping in and snatching the transporter. The bird nods before fluttering away. I glower; someday, I'll hunt that bird down and kill it. But not now. I need to get back home.

I press the smooth button and close my eyes as the now-customary fog billows out from the recesses of my mind.

**AN: Well, this one clocks in at around 1,900 words! As always, please review! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Author Note: Well, here's the next installment. I thought the story should start moving a little faster. Now, I hate to be tyrannical and all, but I really want reviews! So, I won't update until I get 15 reviews (sorry)! Also, try and find out the (tiny – it's only two words!) **_**1984**_** reference (**_**1984**_** is by George Orwell). Thanks to Fiows for reviewing.**

**Chapter Dedication: to my Reviewers. I love getting those emails alerts that say someone has reviewed!**

It seems as if all events lead back to the dreaded white wall. I dimly wonder when I started viewing it as a negative thing instead of just a customary part of life. I glance down at the IV sticking out of my pale arm. It is full of sedatives; after my last escapade, they aren't taking any chances.

I wonder if my life has ever had any progress. Suddenly, I giggle, sending another course of electricity through my arm. I glare pointedly at the scientist who is examining my feet, the source of my unwanted laughter. He blushes and looks bashfully down before continuing his work.

The door swings open with an ominous whisper. A suited man purposefully strides in, a determined glint in his burnt sienna eyes. I do not smile, but in the inside I am jumping in ecstasy. One of my Creators! The scientist who was prodding my feet distractedly glances up and then back down. The man waits for him to realize his identity; it doesn't take long. The scientists gasps, realizing his mistake, and rapidly stares at the approved spot right below my Creator's eyes.

"Y-yes?" he stammers out, pushing his arms behind his back. From my position I can see that he is crossing his fingers in hope of not being fired. He is in luck, for the man simply ignores his mishap.

"It is time," my Creator states simply, then spins on his heels and marches out. The scientist clutches his heart. It is almost comical to see his carefully painted face drain of color as his pink eyes widen. It is weird…I should be worried, but I am not, I muse to myself. I chalk it up to the chemicals currently being pumped in my arm and settle down to continue watching the show that is The Scientist.

By this time he has calmed himself down and is rapidly speaking into the phone implanted into his ear – another one of the famous Capitol fads. With my enhanced ears, I can easily pick up what the average human cannot.

"…weren't prepared for it to be this soon. What were they thinking? …Yeah, yeah. I know…alright, I'll take her to the Gamemasters…yes, utmost secrecy…I can't believe it's already time. Yeah, bye," he finishes, and with a tinny beep the call concludes.

He eyes me warily before disconnecting the IV and the (numerous) wires attached to various parts of my body. He absent-mindedly prattles on, half to me and half to himself. I eagerly listen, desperate for any news.

"Well, guess what, RB-012C3? You're officially going to start the Hunger Games!" he says brightly. I freeze. Already? After fifteen years of preparation, is it finally time? The scientist's voice interrupts my train of thought.

"Of course, you'll have an advantage, not that you'll need it. You have the best genes and strengths!" he boasts fondly. I resist the – human! – urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I stand, shaking off the last of the restraints. The scientist straightens and puffs his chest out importantly.

"RB-012C3, proceed Action #124-A immediately. Do not stop for everyone," he orders, his nose high in the air. I barely manage to raise a skeptical eyebrow before my feet come to life, dragging me through the door and out of the building.

I soak in my surroundings with wide eyes; I have never been outside of the building before – well, excluding the clearing.

Throngs of people eyed me curiously but didn't stop me. The vast range of shades and vibrant colors was dizzying; I couldn't spot anyone with a remotely normal hair, skin, or eye color. My legs are moving quite quickly, but I have no control. I whip along the gold-studded sidewalks, barely managing to dodge the numerous civilians.

Wait. A flash of gold…Cirrius? I crane my neck and barely manage to catch a glimpse of chestnut hair and sparkling gold eyes before my legs take me too far away. I barely notice the background; my mind is whirling in confusion. Who exactly is Cirrius? Why is he here?

Thoughts spinning, it seems like it has only been two seconds when I reach a metal door. I have time to briefly wonder about the point of all this metal before my hand reaches out automatically to press a hidden panel to the right. It is cleverly hidden; it blends in perfectly with the oak wood of the rest of the building.

The door slides open without a sound, and my feet walk into a dimly lit corridor. I weave throughout the endless corridors, twisting and turning. I briefly note that it would be nearly impossible to escape. Argh! What was up with these thoughts of rebellion? I mentally slap myself, unable to actually do it because of my current state of helplessness.

My mouth opens and I say mechanically, "RB-012C3 reporting." I wait, wondering if anyone is actually here. Abruptly, the cool linoleum floor drops from underneath me, sending me plummeting down with a rush of mildew-scented air.

I hate this uncontrollable feeling. Am I about to die? I have no way of knowing – or even preventing this. My mind wanders dismally as disorienting flashes of light speed by – are they ceiling lights from the floors below?

As several moments pass without resulting in my death, I allow the tiniest spark of hope to kindle. This spark soon becomes a flame, then a roaring fire as my fall is somehow slowed due to vast amounts of air being pumped from below, providing enough air resistance that, if I do land, I will not be killed. Something in me – the command? – forces me to morph into a snow leopard; not that I mind, of course. If my Creators programmed it, it's for the best.

As blunt teeth sharpen into deadly fangs and my body lengthens, my keen eyes spot a glimpse of white at the bottom of the hole. The floor? A feeling of euphoria overwhelms me. I will live! I purr happily before landing softly, absorbing the impact with the pads of my paws.

After giving myself a once-over for any physical injuries, I sit back on my haunches and eye my surroundings cautiously. I feel no mental commands, so I suppose I am on my own now.

However, as I am about to get up and explore, a single door at the end of a brightly lit hallway opens. I glance from side to side before standing up and padding over, wary.

At the entrance, I pause and tentatively poke my pink nose in first, sniffing for any signs of trouble.

Hm…sweat, excitement, giddiness…and hairspray…? Suddenly, an over-happy face fills my vision, grinning maniacally through neon green lips.

"Hellooo darling! Well, I certainly hope they didn't send us a widdle…cat thing to work on? Because that just won't do," the woman coos. "That just won't do…that just won't do!" she repeats, patting my head.

I growl menacingly, the fur along my spine bristling. I hunch over, preparing myself to pounce at the annoying woman. I already despise her for wearing way too much make up, and now she has the nerve to _touch_ me?

Suddenly, an imperious voice stops me. "RB-012C3! Stop immediately! Revert to human form," it says. I whirl around, my tail lashing threateningly. Who dared interrupt me…my Creator! A silly grin pastes itself on my face before I can get rid of it. Thankfully, my Creator has not noticed my brief lapse in self-control.

I sigh with relief and begin morphing back into my human stage. My Creator begins speaking.

"This is what you have been trained for your whole life. Do not fail us now. Let the stylists fully transform you so you appear to be from District 1. After, proceed to Room 101 for briefing and layout strategies," he orders before leaving quickly.

The crazy woman eyes him, clucking her tongue in disapproval. "Well, they certainly leave fast," she comments wryly. I narrow my eyes, hating her all the more for insulting one of my Creators.

A pair of hands loudly clap. The source is a man with lightly dyed crimson hair with pale rose skin. His eyes are altered to a pure white with rubies sewn onto the corners of his eyelids. The man smiles cheerfully before beckoning to – still another – stylist, who brings out rack after rack of costumes and beauty supplies.

I groan, eying the clothes. For the first time in my life, I am terrified. When the stylist who had brought the supplies out steps closer to me, I hiss and back away. The woman falters, clearly shocked at the idea of anyone refusing to be made over. She certainly has had her fair share of products. She has lemony bright hair and flowers painfully tattooed on every visible part of her body. Her eyes are a dull purple – nothing compared to mine.

The man, who later introduces himself as Pinne, shakes his head at the woman before turning to address me.

"Now, just hold still, okay…?" he speaks slowly and clearly as one would to a two year old or mentally disabled. I frown in annoyance.

"Must you converse with me as if I am intellectually deprived?" I ask. He blinks, his mouth an 'O.' The red woman with the green lips beams.

"Oh, good. We were afraid you were an idiot! This makes it much easier! Now, you can comply with us!" she prattles on, leading me to the bath.

However, she soon eats her words, as I prove quite difficult to handle. Finally, Pinne storms off and returns – this time, with knowledge of my various commands. I balk, desperately looking for an escape. Already I have washed and had my nails dipped in some sort of colorful liquid – what more can they want?

There's no exit. Pinne grins evilly before saying deliberately, "RB-012C3 proceed Command #23-B."

And for the second time today, I lose control of my body.

**AN: Well, there it was! Again, please review! This one was about 1800 words, in case you were wondering. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Author Note: Thanks to ReadrofBooks, EnjoyEveryChapter, Nilla, and Fiows for reviewing. Hopefully your questions will be answered in this chapter. Also, in case you were curious, the **_**1984**_** reference was "Room 101," which was the room the protagonist, Winston Smith, was sent to at the end of the novel. Anyway, on with the story! [Also, I'm thinking of writing a Percy Jackson fanfiction too – don't worry, I have no intention of discontinuing this one. If I were to write it, should I do with another OC or with Nico (demigod, son of Hades)?]**

**Chapter Dedication: **

I stare at my reflection in disbelief. My face is carefully painted, amethysts carefully glued onto the corners of my eyes and glittery purple powder liberally sprinkled on my eyelashes. My hair is intricately woven into a braid that is carefully pinned to my head, a few spare curls spilling out gracefully from the jeweled net binding the rest. Precious gemstones cover my body – they are attached to my skin, hair, and clothes. I shudder. I can just imagine these hindering my movements during the Games.

Shuddering, I force myself to turn away from the gilded mirror. I face the source of my ridiculous appearance…Pinne. I narrow my eyes as he grins innocently. He claps his hands.

"Alright, off to the Director you go!" he says, shooing me. I glare before exiting the room with as much dignity as a walking sparkle-fest can muster.

Only after I leave the room do I allow myself to breath the smallest sigh in relief. I am finally out of that stifling room. My feet stride purposefully forward despite the fact that I have no idea where I am supposed to go.

After a few moments of walking through identical gray corridors, I arrive at a dull metal door. I hesitate. Am I ready to face this? After a whole life of preparation, what if this is a disappointment? Or worse…what if I'm not ready for this? I shake my head furiously, banishing the rebellious thoughts. No. I must continue…if only to please my Creators.

I push the door open and blink at the sudden darkness, a harsh contrast to the bright fluorescent lights illuminating the hallways. A long wooden table sits in the middle of the narrow room, piles of papers resting on its polished surface. Uniform porcelain mugs are placed in front of the ten metal chairs surrounding the table.

I glance around at the faces of the men and women occupying the seats. All impassive, all professional. I falter before composing my face to be as emotionless as possible. Calm.

"Please. Come in," a voice invites. I casually sneak a look at the source before taking a seat at the only empty chair. It is one of my Creators, suited and as dignified as ever.

A screen lights up, bathing our faces with a cool blue light. The woman seated at the head of the table stands up. It is the same woman from before with the severe bun. She scrutinizes me before speaking.

"RB-012C3. As you already know, you have been created with the sole purpose of winning the 8th Hunger Games. If you fail to succeed, well…" at this point she glances pointedly at the screen. I follow her gaze and barely manage to suppress the gasp threatening to tear out of me.

An early prototype gone wrong stands there, grinning maniacally. It is mutilated; pieces of flesh dangling off. But this is not the scary – no, terrifying – part. Its eyes glint evilly as it stands in defiance while a one of its Creators prepares to shoot it.

I do not wish to have to stand against my Creators! This is the worst fate they can ever bestow me. I resist the urge to look away; everyone is watching carefully, accessing my reactions. I gulp and take a deep, shuddering breath.

"Understood," I say, masking my emotions carefully. The woman nods, satisfied, and continues.

"You will be against two tributes from each of the 12 Districts, save District 1, which you will be a part of." The screen switches to show a pair of determined looking tributes, a boy and a girl. They are ornately clad in gemstone-studded costumes, jeweled daggers attached to their hips.

The woman nods to the man on her left and he stands up, clearing his throat.

"District One. Known for luxury goods such as diamonds. Extremely wealthy, close ties with the Capitol. Names circulate around the products, so RB-012C3, your name will be Sparkle," he says, shuffling the papers in front of him.

To my surprise, I almost protest the name choice. For some reason, I have the urge to say, no, my name is Kara…I banish the thoughts as the screen switches again, this time to a boy and girl with identical chiseled features. They are smiling wryly, but the smile doesn't reach their eyes; they are stone cold and merciless. I nod. These will have to be my allies…at least, until I can kill them. The boy grips an iron sword while the girl wields a silver bow and arrow set.

"District Two. Known for stone quarries and weapon manufacturing. The tributes will be your allies; it is already predetermined, although they do not know of your true heritage. Remember, RB-012C3 – do _not _tell anyone of your muttation origin or you _will _be forced to die at the hand of your Creators," the man threatens. I shiver before nodding my consent.

And so the list goes on, from District 3's electronics to District 12's coal. The faces blur together, ranging from fit and determined to gaunt and scared. It makes no difference; I will kill them all.

At the end of the reel, the woman stands again.

"RB-012C3, do not fail us. You will be informed of the reaping's results in exactly 13 hours. Until then, it would do you good to rest," she orders.

I sweep into a shallow bow before allowing one of the scientists to escort me to my temporary quarters.

Silence. Moonlight filters through the thick glass, obstructed by the sturdy bars covering the window. I stare at the ceiling, pondering over the day's events. So much has happened…what if I'm not ready?

Doubts creep into the crevices of my mind, malicious snakes intent on my destruction. I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten, trying to relax.

I must sleep. The Hunger Games will begin in around 52 hours, and I must be ready. I go over my strategy again, although I have already memorized it multiple times.

Rush to the Cornucopia. Grab my bow. Shoot everyone in sight, then meet up with the other Career tributes behind the Cornucopia.

As I am about to nod off to sleep, a purple beam of light flickers through the window and lazily circles the room, coming to a rest at the foot of the bed. I scramble up, my eyes wide.

Purple beams...? Cirrius! I slide off of the bed, warily circling the light. My eyes follow the beam until I reach the source; the window. I glide over quickly, peering out curiously.

Nothing. Wait…another letter. It is stuck to the opposite side of the middle bar. I reach in between with slender fingers, delicately plucking it from its perch. The violet paper is silky smooth, almost like stroking water.

I bring the note up to the moonlight, squinting my eyes. A single mockingjay is artfully drawn in crisp, elegant strokes. I scornfully toss the paper away in disgust; mockingjays are a waste of my time.

I crawl back into bed, this time falling quickly into a dreamless sleep.

Morning. I sit up, bunching the thin cotton covers on the edge of the bed. Yawning, I take the time to survey my room. It's a small square, pure cinder block and cement. Everything is gray. Even the sky is overcast, heavy clouds looming over the horizon, threatening to unleash their watery loads.

A table sits at the opposite corner, a tray of food steaming. I pause. Am I not supposed to leave the room, then? I cross to the metal door and try the brass handle: locked. I shrug. If I am to be locked in, it must be for my own good.

I plop down on the wicker chair, wincing as several splinters pierce through the thin amethyst-studded dress that was provided.

Bread, peanut butter, fruit, and yogurt. Grains, protein, fruit, and dairy. Perfect. I quickly shovel the food in, wanting to resume training as quickly as possible.

After finishing, I begin doing push ups and jumping jacks; I need to be in top physical condition.

The door bangs open and I look up quickly, startled. A scientist stands there, a black hat pulled low over his face, obscuring his features. He coughs.

"The reaping results. In this folder, you'll find everything," he says in an oddly congested voice, handing me a thick portfolio. "Don't forget to check the Games layout," he continues. I nod, accepting the packet.

Wait. My nose flares as I sniff the air. Is that…cinnamon? I look curiously up, straining to see the scientist's eyes. He smirks and bows before exiting the room, clanging the door shut behind him.

I stare at the door for a moment more. Was that…Cirrius? No. I firmly tell myself to focus, and I open the folder, page after page of photos and information spilling out.

I flip to the District One section. The male tribute is a slim boy with white blonde hair and silver gray eyes. I scan his attributes, briefly wondering if he knows that I am not truly from District One.

NAME: Diamond Gloss

AGE: 17

WEAPON OF CHOICE: Dagger

BUILD: Lanky

He looks to be quite fast – a formidable opponent. Flipping the page, I turn to District Two – my allies. A pair of equally stocky warriors stand haughtily, fists clenched. They look quite similar, and by glancing at the info page I can see why; they are twins.

NAMES: Clove and Bruno Eden

AGE: 16

WEAPONS OF CHOICE: Bow and arrow, spear

BUILD: Muscular

My eyes scan their bodies for weaknesses, immediately pinpointing their thick legs (slow speed) and the dazed look in Bruno's mud brown eyes. Clove's eyes, on the other hand, are a sly red-brown. I will have to watch out for her.

I rapidly skim through the rest until I reach District 12 – by far the weakest opponents. The tributes are always starved and weak with no drive to win or to even survive. The girl is frail and sure to die in the first few hours of the Games. However, the boy…Cirrius! I rub my eyes in disbelief.

What is he doing there? Isn't he from the Capitol? Questions zip through my mind, all unanswered. It should be impossible for him to be there, but there he is – cocky smile and all. I frown, worry creasing my eyes.

I have no wish to kill him…but I must. Deeply saddened, I close the folder and lie back down on the bed. I will just have to close my mind and do what I am programmed to do. Resolve strengthens me, and I quickly jump back up to resume my push ups.

Let the Games begin.

**AN: Please review! It says there are more than a 100 hits, yet less than 20 reviews? =[ Anyway, this is around 1900 words. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**Author Note: Thanks to ReadrofBooks, ilikebooks, Kit, Sasha, ****gammegod25035****, and Raramae for reviewing. First off: I am SO sorry for not updating in forever! I have two reasons (okay, excuses): 1) school has been excruciatingly busy and 2) this chapter really did NOT want to be written. Anyway, I checked my traffic page, and whoa! Over 160 visitors and almost 500 hits? Thanks so much to everyone for reading my fanfic!**

**Chapter Dedication: ReadrofBooks. Thanks for all the helpful criticism/advice!**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own the Hunger Games trilogy or any of its associated characters.**

Sit up. Push up. Jumping jack. Repeat. My physical training has been continuing for the past few hours, yet I still remain alone in my room without interruption. Surely someone must need to check up on me or update me on any changes…?

I pause in the midst of stretching and stride to the door, peering through the keyhole. I blink; the hallway is overwhelmingly bright. Shadows blur past quickly as people run to and fro. My eyes strain, trying to pick out individual people.

Suddenly the door slams open. Only my inhumanly quick reflexes save me from a massive bruise on my forehead. I leap back, feet instinctively spreading into a defensive stance.

My style team barges in, looking flustered. Pinne sighs in relief, his hand reaching up to ruffle his liberally-sparkled hair.

"There you are! Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you!" he scolds. I am about to explain when he continues. "Shh! We're already late! You need to be presented!"

Presented…? Oh, right. There was something in the packet about a traditional opening ceremony where all of the tributes are presented in the manner of their respective district. In short, a superficial Capitol tradition.

My stylists – who are surprisingly strong – usher me into the hallway, prodding me occasionally when my speed does not satisfy them. I scowl but comply, trotting quickly to catch up with Pinne. Today he is wearing a sparkling shirt that appears to have gold bangles sewn across the neckline and hem. I roll my eyes; the unpractical and heavy gold would surely get in his way in a fight.

At last we reach the Remake Center, the place that has begun to haunt my dreams. I shudder. Time for the excruciating pain to begin. Pinne eyes me up and down, surveying my body. I try to shrink down, which is no easy feat for my lanky form. He nods decidedly.

"Amethysts it will be. Play up the eyes, you know," he winks, revealing sparkly silver eye shadow. I grimace back, barely masking my discomfort. Thankfully, he doesn't notice and instead begins directing my team of stylists to pull, tug, and do all of the other things obviously designed to torture innocent snow leopard/human muttations.

After being dunked in the perfumed bath water and dusted with powder and crushed amethyst powder, I come out freshly scrubbed and smelling of sickeningly sweet lavender. This is terrible.

Pinne grins broadly, soaking in my discomfort with glee. "Alright, then, RB-012C3, prepare for the ride of your life! You are about to view the next ingenious creation designed by yours truly," he boasts, puffing his chest out. The gold bangles clink and wave cheekily. I groan inwardly as he reaches behind him to whip out…

Beautiful. The word immediately pops in my head, filling my mind with soft whispered hopes of…prettiness, beauty…all of the things I never gave a thought to before. What is happening to me? I want to stop thinking of unimportant stuff, but this dress does not let me. A shimmering purple, the silken material waves softly. I reach out to touch it, inhaling sharply when the rough skin on my fingers snag on the satin smooth cloth. With my genetically improved eyesight, I can just spot tiny amethysts and opals sewn in, sprinkled throughout the bodice and skirt. The neckline is lined with silver embroidery that seems to capture the light, incandescent threads of lilac peeping through. The sleeves taper to an elegant stop, sizable diamonds lining the ends. It, for lack of better words, is breathtaking.

Pinne beams, knowing full well what I am thinking. "Try it on," he orders gently. I nod dumbly, allowing the stylists to help me into the dress. It gives a soft whisper as it slides down, embracing my body with a soft caress. I turn to the mirror, peering at my reflection fearfully under lowered lashes.

Who is that? A girl clad in a deep purple dress befitting of only the richest Capitol inhabitant stares wonderingly back at me. I reach out to touch my reflection's face, my fingers trembling slightly. However, I manage to stop myself before I complete the move. What am I doing? I shake my head vigorously, dislodging some of the curls that were so laboriously piled onto my head.

"Let's get this over with," I say briskly. Pinne nods, eying me curiously. I scowl and he looks away quickly, yelling, "Diamond! Get over here!" Satisfied with his work, Pinne leaves through the side door, whistling contently.

My breath catches. So this is my supposed fellow tribute. A dozen questions race through my head. Does he know my true nature? What should I say? Are we to be allies? Will I want to kill him? The last question annoys me. Of course I'll want to kill him. I must win for my Creators. My jaw set determinedly, I turn to face the door just as it swings open.

A boy slides into the room, eying the room warily. I notice his cautiousness and the way he grips the dagger hilt at his waist – all signs of a wily competitor. I nod to myself; he will be my ally. Only after deciding this and inspecting his weaknesses (skinny, not very strong, a little too tentative) do I take the time to notice his appearance.

As in the picture, he has silken white blonde hair that flops over his pale eyebrows. His eyes are silver pools that have an oddly hypnotic quality. I stare at them for a while, my surroundings disappearing. He smirks and blinks, allowing me to tear my gaze away from his face. I blush furiously, frantically trying to think of ways that I can overcome this obvious advantage of his. Maybe I can stab his eyes…? But no. He is my ally…for now.

He inspects me curiously, obviously sizing up my ability to fight. I shrug, not bothering to hide my toned muscles. Let him see that I am no easy target. He smiles wryly before opening his mouth.

"Hello, then. So you're the Capitol girl who wants to get into the Games," he says. I peer at him, trying to find any hints that he's lying. There are none; his face remains open. So he doesn't know that I'm a muttation, I muse to myself. The boy sticks out his hand, obviously waiting for something. I stare at the outstretched offering before glancing back at his face. What…?

He laughs. "Seriously? No handshake? Fine, be that way," he says, sticking his hand back into the pocket of his silver pants. For the first time I notice what he's wearing – a matching top and pants encrusted with diamonds and amethysts peeping in here and there. Obviously we're meant to be allies, if our clothes are any clue.

I nod curtly, unsure of what else to do. "I'm…Kara," I offer. He grins with the delight of discovering that his ally is not an imbecile.

"Diamond. Diamond Gloss," he says easily. I look at him wonderingly – how can he pretend that we are not going to be at each other's throats in only a few days? He sees me looking and shrugs. "It's better than being hostile," he says, answering my thoughts. I glance sharply at him. Did he just read my…? No. Impossible, I firmly tell myself. Impossible…I sneak a look at those hypnotic eyes again. It was impossible…right?

He ignores the questioning look in my eyes and hastily says, "Come on. It's time to get ready." I nod slowly, still unsatisfied. However, I still follow him out of the room and through the twisting labyrinth they call hallways.

We arrive at a jewel encrusted door with a large "1" engraved on it. Similar doors line the hallway, each with a unique number and design. I manage to catch a brief glimpse of the other Tributes before the doors open and Diamond drags me onto the chariot.

I can hear the head announcer, Leia, saying our names. Her voice booms across the stadium, answered by a cheer that can only be produced by a crowd of immeasurable numbers. I swallow. It is time.

Diamond grabs my hand. "Pinne," he says by means of explanation. I nod. It seems Pinne really wants us to be allies. The chariot eases out of the enclosure and I blink at the sudden brightness.

Roaring cheers fill my ears, blocking out any thoughts. I see Diamond waving and I copy him. The crowd begins chanting. "District 1! District 1!" they yell, tossing various gems onto the ground. Soon the dirt floor is strewn with multicolored precious jewels. Soon the chariot arrives at President Snow – the leader of Panem – begins his usual announcements describing the Hunger Games and its purpose to punish the Districts for rebelling. Everyone knows this already, but he says it every year to warn the Districts.

When he finishes, he waves for the chariots to continue. After a final lap around the city, we go to the Training Center, a huge building that has thirteen stories; one for each of the Districts and the top one being for communal training. Being District One, Diamond and I are to stay on the first floor. This is fine with me; I would never tell anyone, but I…suffer from a fear of heights.

Neither my Creators nor the scientists know of this…weakness. I only recently discovered it when one of my training tasks was to jump from a cliff into a lake to retrieve a gold hoop the size of a quarter. One look down, and all I could see were the jagged rocks waiting below. My eyesight had spiraled, and my surroundings were blurred beyond recognition. In the end, I fell because I tripped – something that had never happened to me before that day. The scientists had chalked it up to tiredness and resumed their usual experiments.

Only I know the truth. But no one else can learn of this…if they do, I will kill them. I am so lost in my thoughts that I barely notice that Diamond has lead me to our room.

He winks. "See you soon," he says before striding to the crystal elevator at the center of the room.

"Where are you going?" I inquire, my hand reaching for the doorknob. He shrugs.

"Training," he says, but his eyes flash – a sure sign of a lie. I narrow my eyes but let it slide. I am exhausted. I finally get the door to open, and I bound inside, expecting to lie down in peace. However, this is not to be. A silhouette stands, the face shrouded in shadows. I gasp, my hands groping for a weapon, any weapon at all.

"Who are you?" I exclaim. The figure smirks.

"Can't you tell?"

**AN: Sorry for the cliffhanger. They're addicting to write ;P. Anyway, thanks for being so patient! This one is a little more than 1,900 words, in case you're wondering. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

** Author Note: First off, I am SO sorry I haven't updated in forever. First, I went to a month long cruise, and when I came back I had a major case of writer's block. Sorry again D=**

I squint, my eyes adjusting to the shadow-strewn room. My nose sniffs, noticing the distinct spicy aroma of cinnamon. My eyes flash as recognition dawns. Cirrius.

I lean back casually, my arms and legs tensing. My hand reaches down, easing the jeweled dagger that's part of my costume out of its sheath at my hip. I speak gently, trying not to arouse suspicion, "Who are you?" I ask again, crouching down. Cirrius chuckles, a deep resonating laugh.

"You really don't know?" he says. I ignore it and instead launch myself in his direction.

My muscles are tightly wound, my body a single blur of deadly accuracy. My hands are outstretched, clutching the knife. Just as I am about to attack, however, his leg blurs, and reappears, connecting with my side with a dull thud.

What…? How did he even stop me? At this speed, he never should have been able to react, let alone counter. Thoughts race through my head as I tumble to the floor. I quickly spring back up, my eyes narrowed. It takes all my effort not to morph.

He smirks, the picture of perfect health. I fake left before leaping again, whipping my leg in a spinning arc. He dodges before beginning a rapid succession of kicks. A low growl rumbles from my throat as I struggle to remain on all fours. This is embarrassing – I am supposed to be invincible, the perfect killing machine.

Cirrius grins wryly, sensing my confusion. Something inside of me snaps, and a high pitched wail tears from my throat. I throw myself at him, kicking, scratching, and biting relentlessly.

Cirrius's golden eyes widen as he tries to fend off my blows. I show no mercy – after all, this is what I was made to do. His arms gather under my stomach and he pushes me off with a single thrust, throwing my dagger to the other side of the room in the process.

I circle him warily. He is strong…I'll admit that. Cirrius holds his hands up in surrender.

"Relax. I just want to talk!" he pleads. I pay no attention, instead focusing on the best way to retrieve my knife. He sighs in defeat.

"RB-012C3. Cease," he orders wearily. I freeze – not just because of the command but because of shock. How did he know that I'm not completely human…? Cirrius runs his hand through his hair, further ruffling the chestnut strands.

"Yes, I know you're a muttation. I would have told you that if you'd just listen," he says exasperatedly. I merely stare. If he knows this, he might know about…my weakness. Then I won't win, and I will fail my Creators! I try suppressing this dismal thought, but it worms its way through anyway, whispering of failure and disgrace.

Crystal tears begin to pool at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. As a result, the whole room appears wavy and disjointed. Cirrius frowns, a concerned look on his face.

"Will you behave if I let you go?" he asks. I nod slightly, avoiding his gaze. He smiles, satisfied.

"RB-012C3, negate previous command," he says. I stare at him, unsure of what to do next. He sighs again.

"Look, I just wanted to say that I want to be allies. And there's a big plan coming up…beware of Clove," he adds and then turns to leave. A cry escapes my throat. He turns his head, glancing at me.

"Good bye," he whispers before swiftly spinning on his heel and leaping out of the open window. I yelp in surprise, running to the window. I look down, expecting to see the splattered remains of his body; although we are on the first floor, the Training Center is perched on a rather steep hill, and my window looks out upon a sheer thirty-foot drop.

Nothing.

A bird – probably a mockingjay – chirps in the distance, a haunting tune whose melody winds it way through my mind, bringing with it thoughts of death and sadness. The tears I had so carefully dammed up are unleashed, spilling down my cheeks and splashing onto the dress that I had thought so beautiful just this morning. Now it was despicable – just another reminder of the Capitol and its hordes of fake, overly colorful inhabitants.

With these cheerful thoughts, I trudge to the soft velvet sofa placed towards the center of the spacious room. I ignore everything, seeking to rest and wallow in self-pity. I ignore the vicious rivals probably training, plotting of ways to ruthlessly murder everyone. I ignore the fact that Diamond still hasn't come back yet from whatever shady activity he sped off to. But most of all, I ignore the fact that I am so, so different from everyone else here.

I used to revel in my origins, the way I was so much more powerful, stronger, swifter, smarter, and even more ruthless I was than everyone else. I used to take pride in the fact that I was a muttation, able to beat everyone around me. Now? Cirrius had nearly beaten me – him, a mere human! What if I fail?

I sink lower into the depths of my despair. I drag the plush cushions towards me, burying myself. I close my eyes; I wish to sleep and forget about everything.

A slight rustle sounds from my left. I am instantly awake, my ears twitching. My body tenses; unfortunately, these pillows that had comforted me earlier now only serve as a barrier through which I cannot see the intruder. I stiffen, my muscles screaming for release.

I breathe in, trying to catch a hint of who this mysterious person is. I try and pick apart the different scents intertwined together. Dust from the couch…apples from my shampoo…there. A subtle hint of mint. Blindingly fresh and invigorating, the smell wakes up my mind, piercing through any remaining doubts and sadness that still threatened to overwhelm me.

I bolt up from my perch, spraying pillows everywhere. Confidence surges through my veins, and I allow myself a small smile as I scan the darkened room. Watch out, competitors. Kara is back.

I spy a movement out of the corner of my eye. Luckily, darkness has no effect on my vision; I can still see perfectly. The only negative to the night is that it causes my already bright purple eyes to glow with an incandescent hue, easily noticeable to predators and enemies.

A flash of white blonde hair is illuminated briefly before fading. I pause, looking around wildly. What..?

Suddenly, someone taps me softly on the shoulder. I whirl around, my knife clutched in my hand. Diamond smiles at me, his hypnotic eyes twinkling.

"Missed me?" he jokes. I frown. This makes two people who have the capability of sneaking up on me. Thoroughly annoyed, I shove him away and he stumbles, eyes wide open in surprise.

"Well, Kara, perhaps you're a worthy ally after all," he says. I scowl and proceed to jam my knife back into its sheath. He notices my harsh, jerky movements with concern and moves to help me.

"I don't need your help, Gloss," I hiss menacingly. A stormy look overcomes his face and his eyes – am I imagining this? – seem to turn into a shade of angry gray.

"Fine," he retorts and spins on his heel, disappearing into the plain white door that leads to his room. I gaze haughtily after him; I have never needed help, and nor will I ever need to. Smirking slightly, I pad stealthily to the diamond-adorned bag he must have left next to the door.

I quietly open the bag, rummaging through its contents. The sheer number of weapons stuffed into that small bag overwhelms me. Seems there's more to Diamond than meets the eye…there. At the very bottom lies a tattered black notebook.

I pick it up gingerly, keeping a wary eye on the silent door leading to Diamond's room. I slowly open it, noting the obvious age and importance it has to Diamond.

After scanning the first page, I freeze in horror. Diamond…is a muttation? My eyes widening, I quickly flip through the pages, a few bits and pieces of information making their way through my rapidly numbing mind.

_Blended with the albino wolf…strange side effects…changing eyes…too hesitant…the ability to.._

The journal cuts off abruptly. I want to scream in frustration. The ability to what? I muffle the growl threatening to erupt from my throat, managing to tone it down to a soft squeak. Wait. Diamond. I freeze, listening intently. Surely he couldn't have heard that..? Suddenly, I hear footsteps from inside Diamond's room. Only my abnormal swiftness saves me; I manage to reorganize the bag so that it is exactly the way it was. As it is, I barely have time to fling myself back onto the golden couch.

Diamond looks out quizzically, his hair ruffled from sleep. He eyes me warily.

"You should get some sleep. Training begins tomorrow," he advises. I nod briskly, looking at the ground, the floor – anywhere but him. I fear if I look at him, he will realize what I know.

With inhuman speed, Diamond is suddenly by my side, having crossed the twenty-foot wide room in less than a quarter of a second. He reaches up to grab my chin, causing me to flinch and clench my eyes shut.

"Open your eyes, Kara," he says softly. I respond with a resounding punch to his nose. He groans and tilts his head backwards. "I think you broke my nose!" he attempts to say, but through the blood and swollen skin, it sounds like, "I ink oo okeyose!" I glare, giving the famed piercing gaze that had stopped even a mountain lion in its tracks during the experiments.

He perks up, ignoring his nose. "Finally, you're looking at me!" he garbles. Blood spatters freely down, staining both his clothes and the couch. I open my mouth to retort before his eyes capture me…again.

They are back to being like liquid silver. I feel myself being sucked in to the endless depths, drowning in wave after wave. My surroundings melt away as I gaze into his eyes, my mouth still open.

A drop of his blood splashes onto my wrist, breaking me from my trance. I sputter, trying to regain my composure.

"What…how…" I begin before resorting to fleeing. I resolve to kill Diamond Gloss by any means I have. I need to win this game. I must. My mouth hardens as I enter my room. If I am going to win, I will have to take out Gloss and his…eyes first. Muttering curses under my breath, I begin an intensive round of exercises on my bedroom floor.

I will win.

**A/N: Ah, so the plot thickens ;P Who is this Diamond with his all-too-powerful eyes? Also, to let you know: I think I might make this a little romance-y. Not too fluffy/ridiculous, though. Kara's still that hard hearted vicious little muttation we all know and love. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

** Author Note: Oh my gosh. I haven't updated this in so long. Again. After promising myself I wouldn't do that…argh, sorry. I just got loaded with schoolwork and I started writing a new Harry Potter fanfic – Dangerous Beauty. It's /slightly more light-hearted, so check it out if you want ;D**

Training. I tug at the uncomfortable, skin-tight silver jumpsuit Pinne has forced on me. How I am expected to fight in this eludes me. I glance at Diamond, who stands silently behind me with a pensive look on his face.

That boy never ceases to confuse me. When the stylists had berated him for the bruises on his face, he had blamed it on clumsiness. If I were he, I would have told the truth and more than willingly accused him. Anything to gain higher popularity and thus gifts that will help me greatly during the Games.

Contestants who gain the favor of wealthy viewers can obtain various gifts that are parachuted to them during the course of the Games. These gifts can mean the difference from freezing to death or barely making it out alive and winning.

The elevator slides to a stop with the silent hiss of escaped air. The gilded metal doors open and Diamond and I step out.

Several pairs of hostile eyes glue onto us, assessing our weaknesses and strengths. I shiver; this isn't an experiment. This is real. I force myself to stand tall, my chin jutting. The scientists instructed me to appear strong – worthy of an alliance with the most formidable opponents.

I glance at Diamond before scanning the room. To one side of the spacious room huddle a couple scrawny things. Their cheeks are sunken and their eyes are yellowed – a sure sign of starvation. They are definitely _not_ my allies. I look at the other side, where a couple athletic forms are lounging, eying me with confident gazes. Now, _those_ would be my allies.

I start towards them, expecting to have Diamond right behind me. Instead, he goes straight towards the weaker ones that are sure to be the first victims. I stop and watch him incredulously. What does he think he's doing? I shake my head. For a muttation designed by the all-knowing Creators, he sure is stupid.

I continue on my path towards my allies, making sure that my eyes never waver from theirs; I do not want to appear weak. A girl with shoulder-length dirty blond hair and glinting red-brown eyes leans against the wall, her arms crossed. A boy with similar hair and dull brown eyes stands, gazing blankly at me. These must the tributes from District Two. I am only slightly surprised to notice two more tributes with them; the scientists had informed me earlier that two more tributes would help, both from District Four.

I struggle to remember the information the scientists had drilled into me about District Four. It is a district of fishermen and produced many strong tributes. In short, they are good allies to have.

I reach the girl from District Four and she grins, the rubies set at the corners of her eyes glinting maniacally. Her auburn hair is twisted delicately into a style that's both pretty and wild. I shudder as I realize her teeth have been filed to points.

"You must be Kara. I'm Aliss," she says sweetly. I frown; her voice is laced with hidden barbs and traps. I glance at the worn sheath strapped to her hip. Knives, huh? My mind scrambles to come up with good offensive strategies. Knives have always been my best way to attack – well, that and bare handed fighting. It will be interesting to fight her when the time comes.

"Hello? Anyone there? I will _not_ be slowed down by some imbecile!" she shrills, her voice devoid of any past-illusions of sweetness. I allow myself to smile.

"Yes, I am Kara," I say quietly before moving on to the other tribute from District Four, a boy with jet black hair and icy blue eyes. I am happy to notice that Aliss appears to be infuriated; of course, I shouldn't be happy that one of my allies is angry at me, but I cannot help it. I freeze just as I am about to introduce myself to the boy; what if provoking Aliss lessens my chances of winning, thus disappointing my Creators? My breath catches and icy cold fear grips my heart. What if…? What if…? Thousands of questions whirl and I stumble a little.

I notice Clove, the girl from District One, smirking as she watches my moment of weakness. I pull myself together quickly, dispelling any stubborn thoughts of failure from my mind. I straighten and smile brightly at the black-haired boy.

"I'm Kara, weapon of choice is the bow," I lie cheerfully. Let them think that archery is my strong point; when the time comes, I'll whip out a dagger and kill them all.

The boy tilts his head before answering softly, "Nice to meet you. I'm Nev." I blink. I can sense no hostility coming from him. I brush him off as a weakling; after all, he hadn't even tried to intimidate me – how good of a fighter could he possibly be?

At last I come to Clove and Bruno, the tributes I had read about before. Strange, that moment in my room seems like a lifetime ago. Bruno, who had been peering intently at the ceiling, merely glances at me and grunts his name before continuing in…well, whatever fascinating thing he was doing. Clove, however, forces a smile that's so convincing, if I didn't have the snow leopard DNA, I would never have known. Mental alarms ring as I take in her strong build and sly smile; she would definitely be strong.

"So, how are you planning to train?" I ask casually, hoping to get more information about their fighting styles. So far only Nev had told me, saying that he preferred to lay net traps. Aliss chuckles and rolls her eyes, those infuriating gems glinting with every move.

"Nice try," she says. Well, it was worth a shot. I lean back on the wall, noting that it is slightly moist. I scan the room again, subconsciously looking for that shock of golden brown hair. I stop, realizing that I am looking for Cirrius. I refocus, assessing everyone for weaknesses.

I have to win. I have to.

Diamond is still talking with the weaker tributes. My eyebrows furrow as I try to think of possible reasons he would do that; I come up with nothing. Talking with them will not help him at all – in fact, it is detrimental. I excuse myself to my allies before striding over to his perch near the knot-tying station.

I ignore the tributes near him (after all, I'll just be killing them anyway) and grab him by the front of his matching impractical jumpsuit.

"What are you doing?" I hiss quietly. Diamond rolls his eyes.

"What do you mean?" he asks innocently. I fume silently, somehow knowing that my allies are watching my every move.

"You know we have to make allies! Don't you want to win?" I ask, trying to subtly remind him of his purpose as a muttation. He blinks.

"Well, not really," he says breezily. I stop and stare at him, genuinely shocked. Didn't his Creators order him to win? They must not have; _no one_ can actually want to disobey them. I struggle to come up with ways to ask him of his purpose without revealing that I know about his identity.

"Then…why are you in the games?" I ask carefully, avoiding his eyes. Ha! You're not getting me this time. I can feel his gaze, and it unnerves me. I slightly shift my weight from each foot. Why had I even come here? I think longingly of my place between Clove and Nev – although they were sure to backstab me the first chance they got (and I would do the same to them), anything was better than here, under Diamond's eye.

"Because of you," he says finally. I stare, the sounds of arrows thudding into straw dummies echoing from the nearby archery station.

"You are lying," I say calmly. He is obviously trying to unsettle me…which, unfortunately, he has succeeded in doing. I quickly walk back to the Careers, where Bruno has been absently picking at his teeth with Aliss's knife. Aliss's face is bright red and she is trying to retrieve it, but Bruno is too tall. Aliss, while fierce, is quite small. I wince as Bruno licks the blade. Who knows what kind of contaminants are on that blade…and from what I've seen of Aliss, I'm sure there's quite a bit of blood.

I eye Bruno curiously. Could someone really be that dumb? I notice his eyes, while blank, are closed…potentially hiding something. I am interrupted by a tentative poke.

I whirl around and see Nev's pale eyes staring back.

"What?" I snap. I have no time for weaklings; I am only putting up with him because the scientists have told me to.

"A boy from District Twelve told me to give you this," he says, handing over a soft slip of violet cloth. My breath catches; lately, anything purple sends me into hysterics. Stupid Cirrius and his talk about the oh-so-mysterious purple beams.

"Thanks," I say curtly, before turning around to signal that the conversation is over. I hear an exasperated sigh behind me and I roll my eyes. Weakling.

I turn the cloth around in my fingers, my roughened fingers snagging on the delicate threads. Nothing. I snort, flinging it away from me. It is obviously a ploy to get me distracted. I make a show of turning away from it in case the person behind it is watching.

Sensing that my allies plan to waste the whole time away, I amble over to a random stall; it makes no sense to just sit there. The keeper of the stall, an elderly woman with wispy white hair, smiles happily at me, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. Weird. For a Capitol woman, I see no traces of artificial changes…this exception unnerves me and I quickly leave the stall, opting for one manned by a pale orange man with dark blue hair. There. This was someone I can suitably hate.

"Hello, there!" the man shouts eagerly. Oh yes. Definitely someone I can hate. All thoughts of the elderly woman leave me as I mentally point out all the superficial altercations he's done to his body. Stupid Capitol people; they don't care about anything real. I eye the table in front of him, spying various arrays of dyes and poisons. I glance back up at the man, who is jumping up and down like an excited child.

They let _this_ guy man the table with lethal poisons? I scoff. A Capitol person is probably in charge of this. I pick up a small bowl of a thick pink paste and peer at it. Hm…Cristred made of frostberry and maurflowers. This would leave a victim blind and vomiting for days. Out of the corner of my eye I see that the man has finally quieted down. He approaches me and spies the bowl.

"Oh, you've picked up the Cristred!" he said cheerfully. "Cristred has the interesting prop-"

"I know what it does," I interrupted tersely. His face fell and his ridiculously bright orange lip quivered. Oh, for Panem's sake.

I point at a random bowl and ask, "what is this?" The man immediately brightens and begins a long speech on the qualities of the bowl, which I know for a fact is Bittersweet, a delicious concoction that instantly kills the consumer if eaten and heals even major wounds if used as a salve. I absently listen to him; for a Capitol airhead, he (admittedly) knows a lot about the poisons.

My Creators must have drilled him beforehand; if anyone can cure a Capitol airhead's stupidity, it's them.

The man continues to talk as I peruse the rest of the potions, only a few snippets of his words reaching my ears.

"-purple beams…" I catch him say. I drop the bowl of Britefast I am holding with a clatter. What?

"Wait, what did you say?" I ask urgently, grabbing the front of his silly sequined shirt. He blinks before saying cautiously, "fish oil can be used to increase electricity's range?" I growl angrily.

"No! Before that!" I hiss. He whimpers.

"Um…purple beams are a mythological type of wood that can be used to both cure death and erase memories?" he asks hesitantly. I let him go, his still-quivering body falling to the ground in a heap.

What does _wood_ have to do with anything?

**AN: Thanks for reading. As always, /pleaseplease/ review =D**


End file.
